


Self-Inflicted

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [321]
Category: thunderbirds are go
Genre: Brotp, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 05:25:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8000200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>nonsexual intimacy #7: patching up a wound</p>
            </blockquote>





	Self-Inflicted

“It’s self-inflicted,” John said, opening and closing cabinets, quickly searching for supplies.  “I should leave you here to suffer.”

Penny watched him from the safety of the bench where he had deposited her.  “It’s not my fault you’re all so ridiculously tall.  I have to close the gap through engineering and suffering.”

John shot her a look in the mirror over the sink where he was washing his hands.  “Pen, you’re not that short.”

Penelope rolled her eyes.  “You are just too much of a gentleman to press your advantage.”

“And other things,” he said with a smile. 

“And other things,” she agreed, her smile fueled by the warmth she felt whenever John felt comfortable enough in her presence to even attempt a joke about himself like that.  “But in that room, being half a head shorter is not a desirable situation.  Hence,” she kicked out her feet from under her skirt.  “Engineered advantage.  And hence, blood.”

John knelt on the white tiles before her, an incongruous shape in his grey morning suit.  “Two hences in one sentence.  Must be terminal.”  But his hands were warm and gentle, confident and reassuring as he slipped off her high heeled shoes and set them to one side.  “Pen, you could kill a man with those.  How you walk on them…” he trailed off, assessing the damage.

“It’s just practice.  But these are new, and I forget to tape up.  So.”  She waved her hand at the pale smear of blood on her left heel.  John was already reaching for a tissue, gently cleaning and drying the emerging blisters.  Normally, it was a faux pas in polite society to be seen with _sticking plasters_  on ones’ heels, but her feet were already aching, and there were hours still to go at this event.

“There.”  John’s hands cradled her feet as he gently rotated her joints, testing the seal.  “That should hold.”  His hand was a reassuring pressure around her ankle as he reached for her shoe.

There was something magical, Penelope had to admit, about having someone else slip shoes onto your feet.  John stayed on one knee as he held out a hand.  Penny lifted herself off the bench, but let him steady her.  “Better?” he asked.

“Much.”  She hooked her arm around his.  “Come along, Prince Charming.  Back into the fray.”


End file.
